It was like I had walked into a Hollywood museum. Every square inch of wall space was occupied by large, framed movie posters, most of which had either the words sorority or slasher or both in the title. I recognized a younger version of Margo, minus the overzealous face-lift, gracing half of them. Most were films I didn’t recognize; some were even done in foreign languages-Japanese, German, Spanish.
As the maid led me into a large room at the back of the house, the feeling of being in a showplace increased when I noticed that everything was encased in plastic. And I mean everything. The sofas were wrapped in the kind of covering seen on my Irish Catholic grandmother’s virgin living room set she purchased at Sears in 1957. Plastic display cases took up every available surface, displaying things like vases, jewelry, teacups, and even a stuffed ferret. Along a black-lacquer mantel sat a collection of trophies-one of which I picked out as a Golden Globe. I took a step closer. Best Supporting Actress in a Drama, 1997. Ouch. Been a while since Margo had appeared on the big screen.
“Miss Margo will be right with you, ” the woman told me, then disappeared back the way she had come.
I took the opportunity to browse the museum. Of course, the first stop was the ferret. (What can I say? I’m curious like that.) A brass nameplate on the case said: MR. BOBO, FROM SORORITY STRANGLER 7. I looked at Mr. Bobo, permanently suspended in midleap inside his plastic tomb. Creepy.
I moved on to the next case, which held a huge pair of ruby-colored earrings. The case read: WORN BY MAGDALENA IN THE SLASHER COED RETURNS. The rest of the cases were similarly marked, all holding memorabilia, it seemed, from Margo’s various film efforts. I paused next to a case from The Campus Killer, which held a pair of black silk pumps embroidered with little emerald butterflies down the sides.
“Gorgeous, aren’t they?”
I snapped my head up to see that Margo had entered the room.
“I wore those as Eleanor Swift, sophomore at UCLA and the Campus Killer’s third victim.”
I nodded. “They’re beautiful.” Personally, I thought it was a shame they were stuck behind plastic. Shoes like those deserved to be worn. Fleetingly, I wondered what size they were…
“My death scene in that one was superbly written. The killer slit me across the throat right here.” She made a line from ear to ear with her forefinger. “God, I was cleaning fake dye out of my hair for a week, there was so much blood. Did you see that one?” Margo asked
I shook my head. “No, sorry. I must have missed it.”
Margo shrugged. “Oh, well, it was a straight-to-video. Great reviews in Sweden, though. Please sit, ” she said, indicating a low love seat.
I did, my spandex dress slipping awkwardly on the plastic surface.
Margo sat opposite me. She was dressed in a maroon skirt, black blouse, and sheer black stockings that swooshed together as she crossed one leg over the other. Though I was pleased to see a pair of classic black pumps on her feet and not the rubber Crocs.
“You wanted to talk to me?” she asked. She pulled a slim silver cigarette case from a drawer beside her and flipped it open.
“Yes, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the show.”
“Sure.” She offered the case to me. I shook my head and she shrugged again, pulling out a long, slim clove cigarette. “What do you want to know?”
“I suppose you saw Mia’s press conference this morning?”
Margo snorted. “Who didn’t? That woman is the biggest media whore I’ve ever seen. And I’ve been around, ” she added, gesturing to her treasure trove of B-movie credits. “I know whores.”
“I take it you’re not that fond of Mia?”
“Hell, no.” Margo punctuated this by stabbing the unlit cigarette in my direction. “She’s a first-rate bitch, that woman.”
“Because of the comment she made about your age the other day?”
Margo gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Oh, honey, we go back way farther than that.”
“How far?” I asked, leaning forward.
“I was the one who first discovered her.”
“Oh?”
Margo nodded. “She was doing this terrible Actor’s Playhouse production in North Hollywood. I was there with my second husband, Randolph Amsted, the director of Dorm Demons?” She paused, looking expectantly at me, as if I should know him.
I nodded, playing along.
“Anyway, the play was awful, but Mia…I could tell she had something. She was driven. She made the audience pay attention to her. I convinced Randolph to put her in his next picture. You know, just something small, like a bit part. He did, and she used that as the springboard to television. Of course, ” Margo added, a bitter note to her voice, “Magnolia Lane has been her big breakout.”
“I heard that Mia was originally cast in the role of Nurse Nan, ” I said watching her reaction.
Her blue eyes whipped around to me. “Who told you that?”
“Uh…” I shrugged noncommitally. “Not sure. I guess I just heard it…around.”
Margo narrowed her eyes at me, and for a second I feared I was going to get thrown out of the B-movie museum. But finally she just leaned back on her sofa with a little plastic burp. “I was the one who suggested her to the producers in the first place. She was supposed to be my supporting actress. But, being Mia, of course, she went behind my back and convinced them that she would be a better fit to play opposite Ricky.” Margo barked out a sharp laugh. “Please. I’ve had lovers half his age.”
I refrained from commenting on Margo’s math. Ricky didn’t look a day over thirty, and if Margo had fifteen-year-old fans, I was a rocket scientist.
“So, Mia got the role of Ashley and you got the supporting role?” I prodded.
Margo lit her cigarette, blowing a fine stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “At least on the small screen.” She looked at me, her eyes twinkling. “Did you know that FOX picked up the film rights? There was going to be a Magnolia Lane movie, starring yours truly.”
My heart leaped into my throat and my internal TV junkie did a happy squeal. “Really? Ohmigod-too cool!”
Margo smiled smugly. “Oh, yeah. ‘Cool, ’ all right. Even cooler? I was the executive producer. The movie was not only going to be my return to film, but also my revenge on that little tramp.” She took another long drag. “I was writing Mia out of the film.”
“Writing her out?” I asked. “But isn’t she the star of the show?”
Uh-oh. The second the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Margo froze, cigarette halfway to her lips, and gave me a death look.
“There are other inhabitants of Magnolia Lane, you know, ” she barked out. “Tina Rey and the electrician were the hot item in the ratings last season. And my lines have doubled since Blake went into that coma.”
“Right. Of course. Sorry.” Though I personally couldn’t imagine a Magnolia Lane without Mia. I mean, Blake in a coma and Nurse Nan hovering over him a story did not make. Where was the drama in that?
“Anyway, ” she went on, “that was going to be my revenge on the backstabbing bitch.”
“Was?” I asked, honing in on the word. “Did something change?”
Margo stood up, slashed her cigarette in the air. “Mia found out about film and pitched a royal fit! Suddenly the whole project’s on hold. And now with the letters and these murders, backers are talking about pulling out altogether. All because of that overrated prima donna.”
I waited while Margo took a long drag of her cigarette, exhaling vigorously before she sank down into the love seat opposite me, the plastic casing crackling beneath her frame. “I swear to God, if that wacko writing the letters offs Mia next, I’ll die a happy woman.”